"I still don't understand," he said, furrowing his brow. He watched as she began measuring out a portion into a thick porcelain cup. "This problem is of the craft. How are these substances going to help?"
"The honey she ingested is no doubt still in her bloodstream," Abbey answered as she concentrated intently on her work. "And from what you told me, it was the catalyst that set everything else in motion. The direct opposites of honey are hibernium-just the oil squeezed from the leaf, mind you, not from the wood-and powder of tetturess blossom. They are even more potent when combined. If she ingests them in both the proper ratios and amounts, they should neutralize the honey in her system."
As she spoke, she finished measuring out the oil. Then she looked around her smashed cottage, and her face darkened.
"This oil remained safe in the other room," she said. "But my bottle of tetturess blossom was taken by Krassus. Turn to the back of the book until you find the pages labeled 'Diagrams of Substitutions,' and tell me what the substitution is for tetturess blossom. I could probably guess, but I'd rather be sure."
Wigg thumbed to the back of the book and found the diagram. "Dried stalk of widow's wart," he answered without looking up. "It also says that if widow's wart is not available, then flakes of dried newt's skin will also suffice."
Abbey nodded. "My widow's wart was also taken," she said angrily, "but I think I still have the newt's skin. The widow's wart would have been better, but we'll just have to make do with what we have."
Rising from her chair, she walked to one of the shelves that was broken at one end and had half fallen to the floor. After a good bit of rummaging around she finally produced a small tin, which she brought back to the table. She opened the lid and removed what appeared to be a small, square patch of dried leather. It was gray, with pink spots. She scraped some of the skin off with a knife, and dropped the resultant flakes into the cup with the oil. Satisfied for the moment, she looked back at Wigg.
"We are fortunate that the necessary ingredients for this potion survived the destruction here," she commented. "Still, that is only half the battle."
Wigg understood. "As the mixture counteracts the honey, I must also use my powers, trying to bring her consciousness back to the surface," he mused.
"Correct."
Abbey went to a sideboard to retrieve a copper pitcher, and filled it with water. She transferred the ingredients from the mortar into an iron pot, poured in a measure of water, and stirred it slowly with a wooden spoon. Then she placed the iron pot on the hearth hook and swiveled it over the flames.
She went back to the bookshelves and picked out another volume. As she brought it to the table, Wigg glanced at the title: Combinations and Potions: Times and Instruments for the Application of Heat and Cold, and the Subsequent Reactions Thereof. She began to read.
"Now what are you doing?" he asked. His interest in the process had gradually become more genuine. But Abbey, her thoughts obviously lost in the volume, didn't answer.
She finally put down the book. "White feather of male highland goose," she said softly to herself. "It seems nothing else will do. Now where did I put those?"
Busily wiping her hands on her apron, she returned to the shelves. After some looking, she reached up to grasp a pewter canister. She opened the top, peered inside, and pulled out a long, white feather. She then went to her writing desk and retrieved a quill pen and a small bottle. Finally she returned to the table.
She opened the bottle. Taking up the quill, she filled it with red ink. She then laid the white feather flat on the table. About two-thirds of the way to the top, she slowly began drawing a straight, red line across it.
"What in the name of the Afterlife are you doing?" Wigg asked, completely at sea. He was beginning to grow anxious. He turned back to look at Celeste.
"Still the same old Wigg," Abbey said, her eyes remaining locked on her artwork. He almost thought he saw a hint of another smile. "With an attitude like that, you must drive this Faegan you speak of to absolute distraction."
Saying nothing, Wigg pursed his lips.
Finally she finished and blew on the feather, drying the ink. Then she walked back to the hearth, swung the pot toward her, and carefully lowered the feather down into it, so that the ink line showed just above the rim. Almost immediately the portion of the feather just above the mixture began to brown from the heat of the potion. She turned back to Wigg.
"Bring two chairs over here," she said.
"What good does the feather do?" Wigg asked curiously.
"Tell me something, Lead Wizard," she said, her eyes still locked on the feather. "Despite all of your knowledge of the craft, without the goose quill, how would you know how long to let the mixture cook?"
Smiling, Wigg nodded. "When the brown color reaches the ink line, the temperature is right," he mused. "Very clever."
"There's more to it than that," she answered. "Not only does the right temperature activate the potion, but it also assures that we will not burn her throat."
Saying nothing more, the two of them watched quietly as the brown stain gradually climbed higher and higher. When it finally met the ink line, Abbey swung the pot around and took it off the hook. She very quickly poured the entire potion into a cup.
"Now!" she ordered. "Before it cools! You understand what you must do?" she asked. "As soon as the potion starts down her throat, begin your work. And be warned, she may become difficult to control."
He nodded quickly and went to his daughter. He tilted up her head and carefully parted her lips.
As Abbey poured the mixture into Celeste's waiting mouth, he employed the craft, attempting to reach into the depths of his daughter's consciousness. At first, things seemed to go well. After a few moments Celeste began to stir and moan. Then, unbelievably, she opened her eyes, looked beseechingly up at her father, and started to cry.
It was just then that Wigg suddenly realized what both he and Abbey should have done, but had not.
Coming partly out of her stupor, Celeste suddenly bolted upright. Her eyes wide, she screamed, and her body began shaking uncontrollably. As if possessed, she began to raise both trembling hands at once. Understanding, Wigg tried to force her hands back down, but she was too strong for him.
"Hold her!" Abbey shouted.
Wigg briefly thought of using the craft to hold Celeste, but that would mean stopping the flow of his power into her, to help her. With a final, purely physical effort, Wigg was able to force Celeste's arms back down onto the bed. But suddenly her wrists turned up. Just as the azure bolts shot forth, Wigg let go of her, grabbed Abbey, and threw the herbmistress to the floor. Covering her body with his own, he closed his eyes, knowing that all he could do was continue to aid Celeste's mind and hope that it soon would be over.
A deafening cacophony of destruction came from every corner of the house: the sounds of breaking glass and falling stone.
Then, blessedly, it was over. Wigg carefully stood and gave Abbey a hand up. He found himself choked by dust. As his eyes cleared, he looked around.
The devastation was amazing. Only two of the walls were still standing, but one of them suddenly gave up the effort and collapsed inward, crashing to the cottage floor. Most of the roof was gone, revealing the stars twinkling innocently in the early evening sky. In the dim light he could see that the vast majority of Abbey's bottles and other containers had been blown out of the house and lay broken or open, scattered haphazardly across the nearby woods and fields. Wigg realized that they were probably quite unrecoverable. Almost every stick of furniture was demolished, and even the hearth had been rent in two, its bricks scattered across the floor like abandoned children's toys. Most of the chimney somehow still rose toward the sky like a crooked, broken finger, trying to point to the stars.